


Seven Days

by AGJ1990



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGJ1990/pseuds/AGJ1990
Summary: When Sam saves John's life on a hunt, he thinks his father will finally show him some of the approval Sam craves so desparately. When things don't turn out like he plans, a wish granting witch decides to help him out.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Friday

**Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.**

**A/N: So I’m doing something I don’t think I’ve done before, but I’ve seen it done in a few other stories. I’ve started at the end and will work my way back here. The story takes place over a week. The next chapter will be labeled _The Previous Friday,_ the one after that _Saturday_ , and it will loop back around here. I hope that makes sense. **

****

**_Friday_ **

****

No arguments for five days.

On any other day, John might relish in the silence. He might be grateful that there was finally some semblance of peace, a way for him to focus on what really mattered. Finding what killed Mary. Giving his boys back their lives. Finally getting to be the father that they deserve.

He wished he could tell Sam all of that. That he wasn’t trying to be the bastard Sam believed he was being just for the hell of it. He wanted-no, needed-Sam prepared to face any and all threats to him. Be able to take care of himself if John or Dean wasn’t there.

If only he could figure out how to convince Sam of that.

The hospital was dead silent. It was nearly midnight, and the week long curse was nearing its end. The warning of the witch resonated in his mind. _You’ve got seven days to figure out how to make your son wake up. Do it or lose him forever._

Do it or lose him forever? What the hell did that mean? John didn’t think, or at least hoped, that it didn’t mean Sam would die. He couldn’t explain why he believed that, but it just didn’t make sense. His instincts told him that Sam wouldn’t die, but how could he be sure?

John took a close look down at Sam. His first thought was that the boy looked to be sleeping, but Sam never looked this peaceful, even when he was asleep. John wondered what he was thinking at the moment. Was Sam dreaming? If he was, was it a good dream? Was he having a nightmare? Would John ever know?

Did he deserve to know?

“Come on, Sammy. Talk to me, buddy. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

A noise caught John’s attention. That wasn’t uncommon; the man was so paranoid that any noise could set him off. But what was waiting for him next to his chair blew John away. He wished now that he hadn’t sent Dean back to the motel room for some sleep.

“Sammy?”

The little boy smiled, confirming John’s suspicion. It was Sammy, age four or five, staring at him with a look John hadn’t seen on Sam’s face in years. Sam was happy. Happy to have his daddy with him. John cautiously reached a hand out towards…he didn’t want to call the little boy Sammy, because it clearly couldn’t be him, but his gut-or maybe his heart-told him it was.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“What? What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“I came because you needed me.”

“I…I needed you? What does that mean?”

“Can I sit in your lap, Daddy?” Sammy asked. “Please. I’m tired.”

John chuckled at the familiar tactic. Sam had used it until he was almost nine years old. John would want him to go to bed, or to leave him alone to do some work, or anything else involving leaving and not being in the same room with his father, and suddenly Sam would be tired.

“Sure, buddy. Come here.”

Sam happily climbed up into John’s lap, promptly snuggling himself up into his father’s chest. John had forgotten the feeling that Sam brought him when the two of them sat quietly together. He instantly felt calmer. His heartbeat slowed, his hypervigilance went away, and all he felt was the contentment which usually escaped him.

“Sammy, how are you here?”

“I told you, Daddy. You needed me.”

“But, you’re fifteen…”

“No, I’m not. I’m five.” Sammy said, holding up five fingers to emphasize his point.

John sighed. “Okay. You’re five. But how are you five _and_ fifteen? How are you here on my lap and on the bed there?”

“I told you, Daddy. You needed me.”

“Okay. You win. You’re right. I did need you.” John replied.

“Daddy? Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. What is it?”

Sam took a look at his older form on the bed, then back to his father. “How come you’re not as nice to me when I get older?”

A stunned John couldn’t answer at first. “What?”

“You’re not as nice to me when I get older. Why?”

“I…I…” John stuttered, gathering his thoughts as Sam stared him down. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, me and the older Sammy here are the same. I can tell what he’s thinking and feeling.”

“And he feels…like I’m not nice to him?”

“Yeah. And it makes him feel bad.” Sammy explained. “You’re real nice to Dee but not me.”

“I wasn’t nice to you when you were this age?”

“You were. But I’m in there too, Daddy.” Sammy pointed at the bed, feeling a little frustrated he couldn’t explain himself better.

It took John a moment before he realized what Sam was telling him. “You mean, when you and I fight when you’re older, it makes you feel bad too?”

“Yeah.” Sam said. “I can see and hear you too.”

With an astonishing clarity that John rarely could ever hope for on a hunt, he realized what he had to do to get Sam back. Checking the clock, he saw he had three minutes left before he lost Sam forever.

“I know what I have to do, buddy.”

Little Sammy smiled again and hugged his father. “I love you, Daddy.”

Before John could respond, the little Sam that had been on his lap was gone. John felt a strange sense of emptiness, deeper than the one that was usually there on any given day, but he didn’t have time to reflect on it. He flipped the light on in the room and took his seat on Sam’s bed. He grabbed Sam’s hand with a gentleness that was unusual for him, so he prayed he hadn’t forgotten how to do what he had to.

“Sam, I’ve got a few things to say to you.”


	2. The Previous Friday

A/N: Hey guys. Sorry this chapter took so long. It was harder for me to get right than I pictured it would be. 

But before the main story, I have one thing to say. This may appear to be out of the blue, but please folks, take COVID precautions seriously. COVID is not a joke. Part of the reason that this chapter has taken so long is that my roommate, who is one of my best friends, was diagnosed with COVID one week ago today. She’d been unusually tired for a few days before that, and her allergy medicine stopped working the day before she went to get tested. After she received her positive test, she slept for twelve hours a day for five days. She had body aches and a fever and bad cough. My roommate is very healthy, and this is taking every ounce of the energy she has. I’ve seriously lucked out-I’ve tested negative twice in a week, so I should be okay (should being the key word-there’s no guarantee I won’t catch it at a later date). 

The physical aspect of COVID is one thing. But the emotional is another. My job’s position was that, as long as I was negative, I had to work. So I had to work all week knowing that one slip up meant that I could infect somebody. I had visited my mother the day that my roommate got her positive test, and I still feel incredibly guilty about that. After my roommate’s positive test, I of course quarantined too as much as I could, which meant that my mother and family couldn’t come see me. For my roommate, she works all the time, so she felt guilty taking time off to recover. She also felt guilty having to rely on me to do everything-cook her food, get the groceries, do all the chores. 

My point is this. Please take the precautions seriously. Don’t wait until it’s too late-stay safe and stay healthy. 

The Previous Friday

Sam had never been able to understand his father and brother’s fascination with hunting. To his father, hunting every evil supernatural being he could find brought him one step closer to whatever had killed Sam’s mother more than fourteen years earlier. While Sam understood why his father might be driven to find answers to his mother’s death, he couldn’t understand the deep need for revenge. From what Dean had told Sam of their father before Mary’s death, he was a kind, gentle man. If revenge had changed his father into the man that Sam knew today, then Sam wanted no part of it. 

To his brother, hunting was an adventure. Sure, Dean was driven by a need to find answers to his mother’s death too, but the adventure took precedent. Dean relished in finding a monster, hunting it down, killing it and hopefully saving some lives in the process. While Sam, again, understood what Dean found attractive in hunting, he just didn’t feel it. 

For Sam, hunting only meant bad things. It meant constant moving and an inability to form attachments to virtually anyone. It meant constant worrying about whether his father and brother were okay when they were away from him. It meant getting hurt in ways that other kids had only seen in movies, like getting stabbed or shot, and having to move on and pretend like the trauma associated with that injury just didn’t exist. It meant nightmares, of burning corpses and being chased by ghosts and countless other events that Sam was sure would happen to him in real life someday. It meant anxiety that he’d die young, and by the time he did die, the only people that might care, his father and brother, would already be gone. 

Yeah. For Sam, there was no good in hunting. 

So Sam tried to focus on the good things he did have. He tried to focus on school, because he was a whiz at it. Sam loved to read, and because of that, he did very well in his English and Social Studies classes. He struggled a bit with math, but could usually figure out any problem laid before him. Science was fun too. Since Sam was a junior this year, at least at the school he currently attended, he could pick his own courses. He’d of course, at the annoyance of his father, chosen the college prep classes. Without missing a beat, John started a fight with Sam, and the familiar refrains were shouted across the room at each other. 

It’s a waste of time, Sammy. 

It’s Sam. And it’s not a waste of time. 

You need to focus on hunting. 

I don’t want to hunt. 

Too bad. It’s what we do. 

No, it’s what you do. Not me. This will not be my life. 

And on and on and on and on. Sam believed the fight would never be over. He’d wanted to go to college from the time he’d been old enough to understand the word, and he’d learned over time never to express what he wanted. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. Sam’s desires came a distant second to the almighty hunting.

And as usual, the fight Sam and John had ended in a stalemate. John had told Sam he wouldn’t take the college prep courses, Sam insisted he would, John stormed out and nothing had been said of it again. Sam stayed in the classes, John knew he stayed in the classes, and a tension simmered between all of them that threatened to boil over at any moment. 

The real reason for staying in this town so long came up, and Sam knew that his days of enjoying his college prep classes were over. There was a werewolf, and the cycle of the moon was just right to try and kill it that night. So, Sam was sure, they were leaving. It was a Winchester certainty-just as Sam was getting to like a place, they moved. Forming any attachments was a cardinal sin, punishable by having anything that made Sam happy ripped away from him. 

“Sam!” 

Sam jumped. He’d been stewing, so of course he hadn’t been paying attention to the hunt. It amazed him how his father could yell even when he was whispering. 

“Pay attention! We can’t afford to lose this hunt just because you’re not doing your part.” 

Sam mumbled the obligatory yes, sir and turned himself back to the hunt. The werewolf was nowhere to be seen. Sam thought it was stupid. No werewolf he’d ever heard of kidnapped their victims and brought them anywhere. They all either turned their victim or killed them where they snatched them. It didn’t make sense. 

What did make sense to Sam? Vampires. 

He’d done the research and the pattern fit perfectly. But of course, when he made his case to his father, he was dismissed. The mighty John Winchester simply could not be wrong. It wasn’t possible. Besides, John argued, vampires were extinct. No one had seen one in centuries. If vampires were real, he believed, someone they knew would have seen one before now. 

And John thought that Sam’s view of the world was selfish? How arrogant could his father be, to think that just because he didn’t know anyone who’d seen a vampire, it meant they weren’t real? 

Luckily for them all, Sam had done his research. And in the bag he was carrying was a machete. If this was a vampire, he knew the quickest way to kill it, and would do it without thinking. 

A hissing sound brought back Sam’s attention. Directly behind his father stood the vampire, and in less than a second, he would be on top of John. Sam quickly pulled the machete from his bag, yelled at his father to look out, then ran over and quickly beheaded the vampire. 

Never before had Sam felt so powerful. For the first time, he got it. He really got it. The high Dean and his father got from hunting. John hadn’t seen or heard the vampire behind him, and Sam had stopped his father from getting hurt, or worse, killed. 

Wait, Sam thought. Did I just save Dad’s life?

But instead of appreciation, or concern for whether Sam was okay, what came next took Sam’s breath away. After a stunned silence of around three seconds on the part of everyone there, John broke into a rage. 

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” 

“What? Dad, I…” 

“You jumped in front of me, Sam! You could’ve been killed!” 

“So could you!” Sam, whose shock had worn off quickly and been replaced with an all-consuming anger, shouted back. “You didn’t even see that vampire behind you!” 

“It wasn’t…” 

“It was a vampire, Dad! I told you!” 

“HEY!” Dean, who had been stationed a few hundred feet away in case the werewolf decided to head in a different direction, had come back at the sound of his father and brother shouting. “What happened?” 

“Sam didn’t follow orders! Just like every time…” 

“You didn’t even see it, Dad! He would’ve killed you!” 

“Stop it! Sam, stop it now!” Dean said. “Get your stuff and come on.” 

A betrayed Sam bore holes into his brother. “You didn’t even see what happened.” 

“I know I didn’t. But I do know that yelling won’t fix anything.” 

“Dad yelled at me first…” 

“Sam!” A frustrated Dean grit his teeth and took a deep breath. “Get your stuff and stop fighting. We’ll talk about it later.” 

“Don’t bother.” Sam said. He picked up the machete and stuffed it back in his bag. “You’re gonna talk to Dad and take his side no matter what. Just don’t bother.” 

Sam sat in the car, realizing what he’d always known deep down. Nothing he did would ever earn him any sort of positive recognition in his family, much less praise. John continued to yell even as he drove back to the motel, and Sam continued to ignore him, making John more and more frustrated. Of course, the only thing Dean had to say was for their father. Sam, please don’t fight him. Please just tell him you’re sorry.

Despite knowing it was futile, Sam challenged his brother. Don’t draw a conclusion. Sit down and listen to both sides of the story, separately, and then make a conclusion. Actually listen to him without interrupting or automatically defending John. Sam said it calmly, with no raised voice or defensiveness, and prayed that, for just this once, he might actually be worth defending. 

“Sammy, just stop. Stop fighting with him. I’m sick of it.” 

While Sam got his shower that night, no doubt fuming, Dean was wondering what to do. The fighting between Sam and his father had to stop. He knew that Sam had disagreed with John over what exactly they were hunting. Though Dean was on his father’s side, he didn’t dare say that in front of Sam. He could see Sam’s point that the werewolf theory didn’t quite fit, but vampires? They’d seen a lot of stuff, but vampires Dean just couldn’t stomach. 

Of course, the biggest problem remained. Sammy just didn’t lie. Had he been known to exaggerate? Yes. But as far as Dean knew, other than some minor fibs he’d told as a small child, Sam had never outright lied to him. And the story Sam had told him on the way home troubled him. Dad not paying attention on a hunt? It just didn’t happen. His father lived, ate, and breathed hunting. What could possibly have distracted him on the field?

Dean heard Sam get out of the shower. True to his nature, Sam was still angry, and went to bed without saying a word to Dean. Dean decided to put the hunt away for tonight and follow Sam to bed. 

Just as Dean was slipping off to sleep, John was going through the hunt in his head. He knew that Sam was right. He hadn’t been paying attention, and because of it, he’d nearly gotten killed. He’d done everything that he yelled at Sam not to do on a hunt. As a result, he’d made himself look incapable. 

He had to fix that. 

If Sam didn’t see him as a capable, he would never trust John. Not that he did now, but if he thought John didn’t know what he was doing, he would never place his trust in his father. How could he get Sam to understand that he just wanted Sam to be safe? It was the same fight, over and over again, and it was wearing John down as much as it did Sam.

“Can I get you another, sweetheart?” 

John was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of the bartender’s voice. She was, John thought, an attractive woman, one that he had no doubt Dean would think was gorgeous. She smiled at him, and John did his best to try and return the smile.   
“Um, I think I’ll go with a coke this time.” 

“You sure? It’s pretty late, you might not get much sleep.” 

“I don’t think there’s much of a chance of that.” 

“Aww.” The kind bartender poured John the coke and handed it to him. “Let me guess. Fight with your…son? Teenager?” 

John nearly choked. “How’d you know?” 

“Because I have six boys. Three of which are teenagers now.” 

“You have six? My sympathies. How old are they?” 

“Twenty-two, nineteen, seventeen-year-old twins, nine, and six.” 

“Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a twenty-two year old.”

“Well thanks. You want to talk about it?” 

John sighed. “Not really.” 

“How old is your boy?” The bartender asked. 

“Fifteen.” 

The bartender nodded. “I remember that age well. Been through it three times.” She offered John her hand to shake. “I’m Cara.” 

“John.” 

“Well, John. Can I give you a little unsolicited advice?” 

John shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“Okay. So my mom told me this when my oldest was driving me crazy at sixteen. Think of them like they’re on a balance beam. One wrong move either way and they’re likely to fall off. You with me so far?” 

“I think so.” 

“But they don’t know they’re on a balance beam. They think they’re walking on the sidewalk. And they’ve got plenty of room on both sides. They think if they want to walk a little to the left, all they’ll bump into is some grass.” 

“When they’ll really fall on their ass.” 

“Right.” Cara said with a laugh. “Anyway, this is what my mom told me. If you yell at your teenager, they’ll just jump and fall off anyway. But if you stand at the end of the balance beam, and stay just out of their eyeline, you can guide them, help them stay on.” 

“In other words, shut up and let them make their own mistakes, ‘cause they’ll just do It anyway?” 

“Until they start to really screw up. Then you yell at them and kick their ass ‘till they get back in line.” 

John laughed. “I think I can get behind that.” 

“Look. Just remember this.” Cara said. “Anytime you and your boy get in a fight, just remember this. A week from now the fight won’t seem important. So think about seven days from now, when hopefully, you’ll be over it.” 

“Or onto something else.”

“Or onto something else.” Cara agreed. 

John sighed. “I hope you’re right.” 

“Look this sounds stupid, but it helps me. When you’re stressed about your son, just say the phrase ‘seven days’ to yourself.” 

“Seven days?” 

“Yeah. Say it three times, with three seconds in between. It helps me calm down.” 

“Seven days. Seven days. Seven days.” John said, being careful to count to three between each phrase. It seemed strange, but it worked. “Thanks, I do feel better.” 

“Just don’t forget to say something to your son, okay?” 

“Like what?” John asked. 

“Anything nice. Just compliment him. You’d be amazed at what that can do.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John stood up and paid for the drinks and the small meal that he’d had, purposely handing her twenty dollars more than the bill was. “Keep the change.” 

John sat behind the seat of his truck, thinking over what to say to Sam the next day. He knew he was too drunk to drive home, so he decided to try Cara’s advice one more time. 

“Seven days.” 

As John went to sleep there in the truck, he hoped that seven days from now, everything really would be different.


	3. Saturday

**_Saturday_ **

****

Sam stirred in the bed, unused to the feeling of waking up on his own. Once he realized that he’d done just that, he was immediately suspicious. Had his father actually felt bad for the fight the day before? Unlikely. Sam sometimes wondered if his father _ever_ regretted treating him he way he did. If his father ever regretted making Sam feel like he didn’t care.

“Well, there you are, sleepy head.”

Sam groaned. Dean was awake and grinning at him.

“You want some breakfast?”

“We don’t have to _train_ first?” Sam grumbled.

Dean sighed internally but decided not to take the bait. “That’s not what I asked.”

“And that’s not what I asked. Are we training or not?”

“Dude…” Dean gritted his teeth and exhaled, reminding himself that getting angry at Sam never got him anywhere. “Please, please, just this once, don’t fight this.”

“Don’t fight…of course that’s your response.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said, Dean. I have any kind of a problem with you or Dad, and instead of trying to work it out with me, you both-yes, _both-_ always tell me to shut up and ‘don’t fight this, Sam’. It would just be nice if you or Dad would actually listen to me for once instead of jumping to the conclusion that I’m entirely in the wrong.”

“Okay Sam. Fine. Sit down.” Dean said.

Sam cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “What?”

“Sit down. Tell me your side again, and this time I promise I’ll listen.”

“I told you last night. Nothing’s changed.” Sam said. “What’s the difference between last night and this morning?”

“Look, dude, I’m just trying to do what you asked.”

“And I did exactly what you and dad asked last night. I’ve been paying attention, putting in some real effort. Dad was the one who _wasn’t_ doing that last night, and if I hadn’t jumped in, he would’ve gotten killed or turned.”

Dean frowned. No matter how many times he heard it, the story just didn’t make sense to him. Dad was the one not paying attention? Dad had organized the entire hunt. He’d found the werewolves, staked them out, and set it up so they could be done with the hunt that same week. Though he didn’t know for sure, Dean suspected the reason for the fast hunt had been that John was planning a vacation for them afterwards. He wanted to get through the hunt in order to spend some time with them. But the chances of Sam believing that? None.

“Dean, come on. Say something.”

“Look, Sammy, if what you’re telling me is true…”

“ _If_? See, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m not lying, Dean. And you have no reason to think that I am, except that you don’t want to doubt Dad.”

“Sammy, I don’t doubt you…”

“Yes. You do. Because you and Dad both are incapable of believing that when it comes to hunting I could do anything right.”

“Maybe it would help if you weren’t constantly fighting against it.” Dean said, before he immediately regretted it.

Sam’s lip pursed in frustration. “So it’s all my fault.”

“Honestly? Most of it is. I’ve never seen Dad start a fight with you. I’ve never seen him start yelling at you without you doing something first. What I have seen, over and over and over again, is you ignoring orders when you know how important it is to follow them. Sammy, please, please, please, I’m begging here. Just stop fighting.”

Sam felt his eyes well up all over again, but he was too tired to cry. He’d done all of that the night before. All he wanted was appreciation. That was it. Why was it so hard? Why couldn’t anyone that shared his last name just acknowledge that he had done good last night?

Dean realized right then what he’d done. Sam just wanted to be heard. And what he didn’t seem to realize was that actions spoke the loudest. The best way he could make himself heard was to just do what he was supposed to do. But before he could say anything, the front door opened. John walked in, shut the door behind him, and toed the salt line back into place. Dean held his breath, wondering what his father would have to say. _Please, Dad, don’t kick Sammy when he’s down right now. Please._

But of course, Dean would never say that.

“Sammy. We need to talk, son.”

“No, Dad, we really don’t.” Sam said.

“Don’t contradict me.” John growled.

He took a half second to remind himself of the pledge he’d made to himself the night before. He wouldn’t fight with Sam. But he had to make himself known. Sam had to follow orders. It had to happen. But maybe, if he approached Sam in a different way from the norm, he might find himself actually heard.

“Sammy, please. Just listen to me.” John said, a slight hint of begging in his voice that he couldn’t get rid of. “I need you to listen to me when we are in the field. When I tell you to stay put, I need you to stay put. Okay?”

“If I say it’s not okay, does that make a difference?”

“No. It doesn’t. Now Sammy…”

“It’s Sam.” Sam growled.

“Okay. Fine. Sam, when I tell you to stay put, I need you to stay put. Now since you and Dean are out of school for summer starting this week, I planned to take you both on a vacation. Maybe to Bobby’s, maybe somewhere else. I planned to talk about it with you both tonight, get your input, and we could make a plan _together_. But if you refuse to concede on this, and just say that you get it, which is all I’m requiring here, then we can spend the week training. It’s all up to you, Sam.”

“So if I don’t say I was wrong, when I wasn’t, then you take the only downtime you’ve allowed us to have in months from both me and Dean?”

“Yes.” John said. “So what’ll it be, Sam?”

Sam looked to Dean, who was once again stuck between a rock and a hard place. Sam wanted to fight, kick and scream until it was made clear that he wasn’t the bad guy here. All he wanted was a little bit of appreciation. That was it. But if he pushed it, all he was doing was messing things up for Dean too.

“Fine. I should’ve stayed where I was.”

John breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I mean that, Sam. Thank you.”

“Where are we going on this vacation?”

“Why don’t you pick, Sammy?” A grateful Dean said. “Seriously. Wherever you want to go.”

“That works with me.” John said. “Why don’t you two get washed up, and we’ll talk about it over breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” Sam said. “And I don’t want to choose.”

“Sammy…”

“Dean, I’m not trying to fight with either one of you.” Sam said. “I’m really not. Just…just let me be alone. Please.”

John frowned. Would he and Sam ever have the relationship he wanted? “Okay, Sammy.”

“Look, Dad. I appreciate the effort, okay? I really do. Just let me be for a little while.”

Sam suddenly felt nauseous. He wondered briefly why John and Dean were hovering over him, before he realized that he was on the floor.

“Sammy? You okay?”

“Yeah. I just got lightheaded for a second.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sammy, you’ve got a fever.” John said. “You really didn’t feel sick before now?”

“No, sir.” Sam said. “I didn’t.”

“Well, either way, you go back to bed. If you feel better tomorrow, then we’ll go on that vacation.”

Sam knew nothing else. He went to sleep and slept. For hours. At first, John and Dean thought nothing of it. They let Sam sleep, hoping it was just a virus and that it would clear up. But after four hours, the worry that had already been creeping into Dean since he realized Sam was sick started to seep out.

“Dad, something’s wrong.”

“It’s just a virus, Dean.” John said. He loved both his boys, but Dean’s worry was over the top at times. “He’ll be fine.”

“Dad, he hasn’t moved in four hours. Sammy doesn’t sleep like that. He moves around. Something is really, really wrong with him.”

“Dean, I’m going to get dinner. We’ll wake him up then, but not before.”

Dean sighed and turned away. He wanted to shake his father sometimes. Sam had laid down for a nap, and hadn’t woken up in almost five hours. Why couldn’t John see what was obvious to Dean?

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir?”

“That’s an order.” John said, knowing that Dean was planning to try and wake his brother up while John was gone. “Do not wake up your brother.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Look, son. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If Sam won’t wake up to eat, we’ll take him to the doctor. Okay? Just wait for me to come back.”

“Yes, sir.”

John was no idiot. He knew that the second he walked out the door, Dean was going to wake his brother. But at the moment, he chose to pretend that he was still in some semblance of control. Twenty minutes later, all that changed. Sam would not wake up. Nothing John or Dean tried, from gently shaking Sam to not so gently shaking him, to water on the face, to screaming, even caused so much as a stir. Two hours after that, a very puzzled doctor approached Sam and Dean in the waiting room of the local emergency room.

“Samuel Winston?”

“What’s wrong with my brother, doctor?” Dean asked immediately.

“Could I talk to you both for a moment before I take you to Sam?” the doctor asked. “We have some things to discuss.”

“Is my son okay or not?”

“Please, Mr. Winston. Sit down. We need to talk about this.” When everyone was seated, the doctor began. “Mr. Winston…”

“John.”

“Okay, John. Here’s the deal. Sam’s vitals are all good. His heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, all good. He has a bit of a fever. We’ve been monitoring it, and it’s never gone above one hundred degrees. That’s not good, but it’s not really cause for alarm either.”

“So…if he’s mostly healthy, then why won’t he wake up?” Dean asked.

“See, there’s the problem. Sam’s not responding to external stimuli.”

“What does that mean?”

The doctor sighed. “We can’t explain why. And until we can explain why, we can’t really find a way to treat Sam. But for some reason, Sam is in a coma.”


	4. Sunday

**A/N: There’s not much to this chapter, just some of John and Dean reflecting on what’s going on. There will be more action in the coming chapters, I promise.**

****

**_Sunday_ **

****

Dean Winchester was tired, and scared, and sick to his stomach. He hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. The beeps from the machinery around the room were constant. While it might have made some people fidgety, for Dean, it only meant one thing.

Sammy was still alive.

Doctors had been in and out of the room all day. Dean had already chased two of them out for treating Sam like a puzzle to be solved rather than a human being. He’d been keeping what pastor Jim called a ‘living vigil’ by Sam’s bedside, only eating in the two half hour time frames that John had forced him to leave and go to the cafeteria.

Dean had spent so much time over the last few weeks-oh, who was he kidding, _years_ -trying to convince Sam to _just quit fighting_. Those three little words rang in his head a bell and echoed loudly. The irony did not escape him. He’d spent so long wanting Sam to just quit fighting, but if he quit fighting now, he’d…

No. Dean wouldn’t accept it. Sam had never listened to him before, so why would he do it now? He’d fight. Sam would fight. Even if he didn’t particularly want to fight for himself, Sam would try to stick around because he didn’t want to hurt his big brother.

Except…

Dean knew that the keeping Dean happy card was wearing thin lately.

Even before the hunt, he and Sam had been fighting more than normal. Dean had always treaded a thin line between keeping Sam happy and John as close to happy as it was possible for his father to get. But for the last few months, he’d stopped caring so much about making Sam happy and had just gone for keeping as much peace as possible. Since Sam didn’t hold the power in the house, Dean had gone for enforcing his father’s decrees. Train, train, train, train, and train. No time for school, sports, clubs, or anything else that might give Sam the tiniest bit of joy.

Though Dean denied it to Sam, he wasn’t stupid. Dean knew he was treated far better than Sam. Dean didn’t have to work as hard to have a decent relationship with John. Anytime Dean messed up, he got reprimanded for it, sometimes severely, but rarely was it brought up again after the fact. Sam wasn’t so lucky. John hammered Sam’s mistakes into him until Sam simply rebelled all the more.

Why shouldn’t he, Dean realized, when nothing he did got anything other than negative attention from John? What difference did it make when no matter how hard Sam tried, how remorseful he might be, he’d never get recognized for it?

_A lot of good thinking about this now does,_ Dean thought to himself.

Dean once again checked on Sam’s heart monitor, even though he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. His heart rate was sitting between sixty-five and sixty-eight beats per minute, which the doctor had told Sam was perfectly normal and healthy. The only thing that Dean could tell was way off was Sam’s temperature. It had climbed to one hundred and two degrees and stayed there. Dean felt his heart twinge painfully as he thought about a younger Sam, who felt better when he had a fever just by being hugged and loved on for a while.

Despite his hard and fast _no chick flick moments_ rule, Dean would do that from here until eternity if it guaranteed that Sam would be okay. Hell, there wouldn’t even need to be a guarantee. A chance would do.

“Hey, Sammy. I’m here, dude. Whatever’s going on with you, I’ll be right here. Okay?”

A long pause, where Dean didn’t even know he was holding his breath. Nothing. Sam remained as still and quiet as he’d been the last twenty-four hours.

“Sammy, come on, man. Please wake up. I’m right here. I’m sorry about the argument about the hunt. You wake up and I swear I’ll listen to your side of the story. I’ll listen and I won’t say a word, okay? All you got to do is wake up.”

But of course, Sam didn’t. He remained as still and quiet as he had been the entire time. Dean swallowed back the tears he was trying so hard not to let out.

“I’m going to get some coffee, Sammy. I’ll be back.”

Across town, John was feeling Sam’s absence keenly. Though John was a competent researcher, it was Sam’s area of expertise. John tried to push back the warning Bobby had given him months earlier. _You’re gon’ push Sam away from you until he wants nothing to do with you ever again._ John knew that. He didn’t need Bobby or Dean or Jim or Caleb or even Sam to tell him that. He knew that he was too rough with Sam and that it would push Sam away one day.

John had simply gotten to the point where he hoped, every morning when he woke up, that Sam would still be there.

Nothing came to him, and John walked back to the hospital. He knew that Dean would still be awake, and he had no idea what he was going to say. Sammy will be okay? Everything will be alright? It’ll all go back to normal?  
  


John simply didn’t know, and he couldn’t promise what he didn’t know. So before he went into the hospital, he sat in the Impala and thought of what he did know.

Sam was in an unexplained coma.

The two of them had been arguing right before Sam fell into the coma.

Sam had been feeling neglected and unappreciated for a long time before he’d fallen ill. John had known Sam felt that way but was unsure what exactly to do about it. It was times such as these that John missed Mary the most.

When John finally made it to Sam’s room, he found something he hadn’t seen in years. Dean had somehow climbed up onto Sam’s bed and was lying next to him. The two of them looked years younger and as much at peace as John had ever seen them. Doing something he hadn’t done in years, John went to the nurses’ station, retrieved an extra blanket, and wrapped up his boys.

“Sleep tight, boys.”

Across town, the night in the bar was just starting. But Cara was distracted tonight. Her plan was in motion, soon to take hold. When she had a short break, Cara walked to the car she’d been using in the three months since she’d started deciding what to do. In the glove compartment was something she looked at every night, giving her strength.

“Hello, boys. Mother misses you. Everything’s set in motion, and I’ll see you all again soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I’m back! Things have settled down quite a bit, and I’m back in my writing routine. My goodness, it feels good. Anyway, there’s not a lot of action in this chapter, just Dean and John thinking about things mostly. I meant for there to be more of an argument between them, but that’ll come in the next update.**

**Hope everyone’s staying safe and healthy!**

**Monday**

There was no change.

The world seemed to have completely stopped. For Dean, the days started and ended with three things that Dean didn’t even realize he was doing. As soon as Dean woke up, he checked Sam’s heart monitor. He didn’t feel like he could breathe unless he heard it beeping. Next, he checked Sam’s breathing. If his chest rose and fell twice each, Dean got a little more breath back.

The third thing that Dean checked hadn’t happened yet, and it was because of that Dean couldn’t fully, completely catch his breath.

Dean talked to Sam all day. For the first day and a half, all he did was beg Sam to wake up. Beg him to come back, to get up out of bed and spar with him. Tease him that he was slacking off and needed to get up and train with him.

Then, on Sunday afternoon, things began to smack Dean in the face with the force of a meteor.

Just before Sam had fallen into his mysterious coma, he’d been upset about something. This wasn’t anything new with Sam. Sam was typically upset with their dad over something. Whether it was a missed soccer game, a missed opportunity to do something for school, not wanting to go on a hunt, Sam always held some grudge against their father-and, more and more lately, Dean himself. Dean hated it when Sam was upset, but lately, in order to cope, Dean realized that he’d stopped listening. He’d zone out while Sam was complaining about whatever was wrong, and focus instead on whatever he needed to do. This, of course, brought one big problem.

He had no idea what exactly Sam had been upset about before he’d gotten sick. He’d gotten so focused on trying to get Sam better that he’d legitimately forgotten what the argument they’d had was about. What if that was part of the reason Sam wouldn’t wake up?

Dean wanted to ask his father about the hunt, but he knew he’d get a distorted version of the truth. What had happened? Dean had been away from the two of them, watching in case the werewolf decided to try and run off. Dean realized he didn’t have a choice but to ask John what happened. He needed answers if he wanted to figure out what was wrong with Sam.

A doctor came in and checked Sam over. Dean had long forgotten the names of most of the medical staff checking up on Sam. There was a nurse, Betty, who pushed Dean to eat and sleep when he needed to. As much as her reminders annoyed him, Dean knew they were necessary. As Betty had put it, he couldn’t help Sam if he collapsed himself. So, frustrated as he was, Dean ate the sandwich Betty had brought him and waited.

John was late, as usual. He’d come in and out of Sam’s room, checked on Sam a few times, then left again. Dean didn’t really know what he was doing. What was wrong with Sam was something medical, Dean was almost certain of it. If it had to do with the hunt, wouldn’t Sam have fallen ill right after the hunt was over?

Well, wouldn’t he?  
  


Dean shoved that thought to the side. Thinking of the hunt before thinking of what Sam needed was the reason that Sam was slipping through their fingers. Dean knew that Sam tried. He gave hunting everything he could give it and still remain whole. But it just didn’t come to him the way it came to Dean and John. John was determined to toughen Sam up, but in Dean’s eyes, Sam _was_ tough-one of the toughest sons of bitches he’d ever met. Which for Dean was one of the mightiest compliments he could give anyone. He just wished that he wouldn’t get so caught up with trying to help his father make Sam conform to their life the way that John wanted.

Dean shook his head to rid himself of all the thoughts plaguing him. He needed to get out, even if to just get another cup of coffee. He stood, stretched, and looked down at Sam to make one more plea.

“I’m going to get some coffee, bud. If you want some, I’ll get it for you. I’ll even get some of that stupid triple red eye crap you like. All you gotta do is open your eyes and ask for it.” Dean pleaded. He chuckled and said, “Hell, you’d probably get just about anything you want right now if you woke up and asked for it.”

But of course Sam didn’t, and Dean walked away to get more coffee.

John was an idiot.

There weren’t a lot of things in his life he was certain of outside of hunting, but of this, he was absolutely sure.

He knew better than to trust anyone that hadn’t earned it. He and Bobby Singer had been friends for years and there was just some things that he couldn’t trust Bobby with. Whether that was necessity or his own paranoia, he wasn’t entirely certain, but the fact remained. He couldn’t trust anyone, and he’d been stupid to do it this time.

The bartender that he’d thought was so nice before? Yeah, she had something to do with Sammy’s current condition. But since he couldn’t quite prove it, _yet,_ all he had to go on was speculation and he couldn’t confront her.

And oh, how badly he wanted to do that.

Not just because it would make him feel better. But because, without Sam there to argue with him over whatever this was and the best way to handle it, all he had to focus on was his own thoughts. And that was always a dangerous combination.

His mind kept wandering back to the recent hunt. He’d reached the dreadful conclusion slowly, but he knew it was right. Sitting there waiting for their prey to show up, he hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around him. He’d been forming plans to take the boys on a vacation. He’d gone through a list of possibilities before he got what he thought was a brilliant idea.

Let Sam pick where they went. Dean would surely gripe about whatever Sam chose, and John knew he probably wouldn’t enjoy it much either, but hopefully it would convince Sam that John did care about what he wanted with his life. He did care that Sam wanted different things, and if he would cooperate the seventy-five percent of the time that the family was on a hunt, he was more than willing to bend the rules-a very, _very_ little bit-the twenty five percent of the time they had downtime. All Sam needed to do was cooperate and, as was John’s end all be all rule, be respectful.

But John’s thoughts kept drifting. He suddenly noticed all the small things that Sam was doing that John hadn’t picked up on before. When Sam stayed home from hunts that John and Dean went on, he was the first person that John and Dean saw when they got back home. Sam patched the two of them up, no matter what they’d been fighting about beforehand, often while John would do nothing but snipe at and criticize him. Sam researched hunts, sometimes to a fault, but he would fight to the death to make sure that everyone was safe and able to come home. More than once, Sam had done chores and made dinner and done the dishes and cleaned up and a thousand other things without being asked, all without any outward show of appreciation.

And now, when Sam had done the ultimate thing that could be done, he’d again been met with nothing but criticism.

It had been out of a sense of shame that John’s ultimatum had come out the day after the hunt. He’d not been paying attention and because of it, he’d almost been killed. Sam had taken the initiative, killed the-yes, John now admitted it was a vampire and not a werewolf as he’d been thinking-and in the process had saved John’s life. Had he not done what he did, John wouldn’t even be alive to be worrying about how to pull Sam out of this coma.

John checked the clock. It was nearly midnight, and he was exhausted. His thoughts were a jumble inside his brain, and even he couldn’t entirely pick them apart. If he had any hope of solving this crisis, he had to get some rest.

And he still had to tell Dean that Sam being sick was his fault. John prayed that Dean’s devotion would be enough to stop Dean from doing anything rash to his father. Not that John would blame him if he did. Dean’s love for Sam surpassed anything that John had ever seen. John loved Sam too, but Dean’s attachment to Sam seemed so strong that no force, natural or supernatural, could ever break it apart.

“I’m so sorry, buddy.” John whispered to himself.

Knowing that he couldn’t rest unless he went back to the hospital and checked on Sam, John headed that way. He knew that the ICU, where Sam was currently, only allowed one overnight visitor with each patient, but John was seasoned enough he could easily sneak by the charge nurses. When he arrived at Sam’s room, Dean was nowhere to be found. _Maybe he went to get a room and get some rest._ Shaking the thought away, John knew better, but at least it gave him a minute to talk to Sam. Pulling up the chair next to Sam’s bed, John felt his body settle and ache as he stopped moving and allowed himself some measure of relaxation. Though the pains of his advancing age shot through him in various places, nothing compared to the ache that was going through his heart.

What he wouldn’t give now to hear Sam say _anything_ , even if it was a fight.

John decided to do something he hadn’t done in a long while. He reached over and took Sam’s hand in his. He held his breath a minute, wondering if this moment would be like a movie. The contact would jar Sam enough to wake him up. But alas, this wasn’t a movie. This was very real, almost too real, and Sam wasn’t waking up.

“Sammy, buddy, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t…tell you how grateful I was for what you did on that hunt. You were so brave. You always are brave, and I just wish I knew how to tell you that without everything going to hell all the time.” John swallowed hard. This was probably the most he’d said to Sam in months, maybe even years, that wasn’t filled with anger. “It’s my fault you’re here, Tiger. But I promise, I’ll find out exactly how she’s doing it, and I’ll make that bitch pay.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

John jumped, startled. Again, he hadn’t been paying attention, and again someone had snuck up on him. True, it was only Dean, coming back to the room with a cup of coffee in his hand, but he’d let someone sneak up on him all the same.

“Dean.”

“Dad, what does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” John asked, stalling for time to come up with an answer that Dean might find acceptable enough not to come out swinging.

“Dad, please.”

Dean put down his cup of coffee, and John could see the anxiety causing Dean’s whole body to tense up. Dean always lived in a semi-permanent state of anxiety, as did his father, but this time Dean seemed ready to unravel at the slightest touch.

“You said it was your fault. What did you mean?” Dean asked. “Does this have something to do with the hunt?”

John swallowed. Time to bite the bullet. He cleared his conscious, telling Dean everything, and Dean’s face turned a deepening shade of red with every word John said. As was the custom, Dean listened to his father respectfully, allowing him to talk without interrupting, no matter how hard it was for him to do so. John had a feeling, though, that this conversation was about to end in a very different way than the standard Dean Winchester quiet and deferential ‘yes, sir’. When John finished everything he had to say, he checked the clock. 12:35 in the morning. It was Tuesday.

“What in the hell, Dad?!?”


	6. Tuesday

**A/N: So I intended for each chapter in this story to be one day, but I’m thinking Tuesday may be split into two parts. Bobby joins the family here, and they start to figure out who Cara is and maybe what she wants with Sam. Warning-the story is a hard one. I based it loosely off of a scene from the History Channel miniseries Hatfields and McCoys.**

**Tuesday**

John had never seen Dean so quiet.

It had been nearly an entire minute since John finished his story, and other than Dean’s straight to the point exclamation of _what in the hell, Dad?_ not another word had been said. John took note of how similar an angry Dean looked to an angry Mary. He pursed his lips in the same thin line that Mary had done when she was pissed. The quiet around him seemed to be tangible in nearly the same way as it had been with Mary. Dean even looked down and to the corner of the room in the same way his mother had done when she couldn’t stand to look at John.

“Dean, come on. I know you have something to say.”

“You’re right. I do. But we’re in a hospital, and if I do what I want to do, we’ll get kicked out.”

John nodded. That was the truth, plainly enough. John amazed himself at his own restraint. Criticism was something that he just couldn’t take well, especially when he’d done so much to earn it. And that look of disapproval in Dean’s face? The one that mirrored Mary’s? It was simply too much. But there was one more thing that Dean shared with his mother. Once he started talking when he was angry, the silent treatment was no longer an option. Though Dean spoke with as much respect as could be offered in the moment, the boiling hot rage was there, simmering under the surface, itching to burst out.

“For years now, Dad, I’ve done nothing but defend you. I’ve told teachers I was sore because I fell down or because I got in a fight with Sam when really it was from training with you. I’ve made excuses to friends when they were worried about how much you were drinking. I’ve made excuses to you to make you feel better about leaving all the time. But worse than all of that? I’ve told Sam for years that no matter how bad you made him feel, you loved him.”

“Of course I love him…?”

“Really, Dad? Really? Sam _saved your life_. He saved your life. We should’ve been throwing him a damn parade. But did he want that? No. He just wanted to hear you say thank you.” Dean scoffed. “Thank you. For saving you. That’s all he wanted, and you couldn’t even give him that.”

“We don’t get thanked in this job, Dean…”

And it came. The white hot rage John had been expecting hit in such a way that it surprised even him. Dean slammed his fist down on the small table in front of Sam’s bed so hard that the thing snapped in half.

“But we do get thanked in this _family,_ Dad!”

“I know.” John said. “I mean that. I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do it, Dad? Why?” Dean asked, almost pleading. “All Sam’s ever wanted is for you to like him. To tell him he was a good kid, that he did a good job on something. Hell, he could live on that for years, Dad!”

“He needs to try harder….”

“Stop it, Dad. Stop it. Just shut up and stop it. Sam does try. He works his ass off. It does not come to him like it does to us. He tries over and over and over again. And all he hears from you is do better. Try harder. Well, he did, Dad. He tried as hard as he possibly could here. He finally did what you’ve been preaching at him for years. And look at what he got for it.”

A stunned John asked, “You think this is _my_ fault?”

“Sam got sick the second we were having that fight. So yes, I think it’s connected.”

John shook his head, disappointed in himself that Dean had made the connection when he hadn’t. “I guess you’re right.”

“What did you do that night?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to hound his father, but they had to start working on this. Figure out what was going on in order to help Sam. “When you and Sam had that argument and you left, before you came back and told us about the vacation. What did you do?”

“I went to a bar.” John answered.

“What did you do there? Other than the obvious?” Dean asked. “Did you talk to anyone?”

“Just the bartender.”

“Was there anything weird about him? Did he ask a lot of questions?”

“No. She didn’t.” John said. “Not really?”

“Not really? Not really and no are two different things, Dad.”

John flinched. He hated it when Sam or Dean threw his words back in his face that way.

“What did she say?”

John sighed. “She seemed interested in what was going on between me and Sam. Maybe a little too interested.”

“Wow. Just wow, Dad.”

“Look, I know it was stupid…”

“Where is she?” Dean asked shortly. “The bartender. Where is she?”

“Whatever she is, she ain’t no damn bartender, that’s for sure.”

John and Dean both started at the sound of the familiar voice, and both were relieved to see Bobby.

“When did you get here?” Dean asked.

“Your idjit dad called me.” Bobby said. He walked inside and over to where John was sitting. “What fool thing did you do now?”

“Please don’t make me repeat it…”

“I ain’t talking about the bartender. I’ll get to her in a minute. I walked in on the tail end of Dean chewing you out.”

“Oh. That.” John said flatly.

“Yeah. That.” Bobby answered gruffly. Knowing that he wouldn’t get a full answer out of John, he turned to Dean. “What happened?”

Dean, still angry at his father’s actions over the previous few days, recapped their conversation in full, excruciatingly accurate detail. Bobby’s face grew redder and redder with every word that Dean spoke.

“Look, Bobby, Dean already chewed me out, like you said…”

“Good. Then I won’t have to tell you not to be an idjit. Not to take Sam for granted because one day he might not be here for you to harp on.”

“No. You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Good.” After landing an open handed slap to the back of John’s head, Bobby just shook his own. “When Sam wakes up, you better worship the damn ground he walks on. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Alright. Now onto the bartender. I went to the bar you told me you were at that night. Are you sure the only thing you had that night was beer?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I talked to the manager, who’s also the owner. There’s never been a Cara that’s worked there in the fifteen years they’ve been opened. He’s never even had a female bartender. Waitresses, yes, but no bartenders.”

“So who the hell was I talking to?”

“I looked that up too. You said she mentioned having boys? Six of them?”

“Yeah….”

“You remember their ages?”

“Um…” John closed his eyes and thought back. “Twenty-two, nineteen, seventeen year old twins, nine, and six.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Bobby said. He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to John. “I thought that sounded familiar when you told me, but I couldn’t be sure. I looked this up before I left home.”

In John’s hands was what looked to be a magazine clipping, and when he saw the date, his mouth came open wide in shock. “1894?”

“Yeah. I found that at a yard sale years ago, and something told me to keep it. Turns out it’s a magazine they published to celebrate the hundred year anniversary of the founding of this town. You ever heard of Ashley, Kansas?”

“Is that a girl or a town?” Dean asked.

“It’s a town. Supposedly disappeared off the map in the fifties. Now Ashley, Kansas is a load of bull, but Dunsford Manor ain’t.”

“Dunsford Manor?”

“Read the article.” Bobby said.

_The Unsolved Murder of The Dunsford Boys_

_A mystery has plagued our small town since even before its founding. In the year of our Lord 1784, there was a grand house that existed five miles from what is now Sweet Mill. The Dunsford family consisted of David and Cara Dunsford and their newborn son, David Jr., commonly referred to as Davie._

_Over time, the Dunsford family grew and eventually David Sr. founded the town of Sweet Mill. The family had five more boys, Joshua, twins Thomas and James, Walter, and baby William. Between the births of each of her six living children, Mrs. Dunsford miscarried six children, all girls. Some in town wondered if the poor Mrs. Dunsford was cursed; some local families even refused to allow their daughters to be around the Dunsford family, for fear that the Dunsfords were afflicted with something that would hurt their own daughters._

_Despite losing so many children, Mrs. Dunsford was known for her cheerful personality and her intense love for her boys. She pampered them, giving them access to the best tutors that money could buy. For nearly twenty years, the Dunsford family enjoyed a mostly positive reputation in our town. Even through Mr. Dunsford’s death in 1800 of a stroke, Mrs. Dunsford basked in the company of her children._

_Things began to fall apart when young girls began to go missing in the area in 1805. Five of them, between May and December, left home never to return. A panic ensued. No one knows now how the eye of suspicion landed on the Dunsford boys, but it did. Mrs. Dunsford barricaded herself into the house with her boys and refused to come out._

_On the night of June 4, 1806, a group of ten men turned up to the Dunsford house. Only one of the ten men have been positively identified, through a deathbed confession made nearly fifty years after the event. The ten men all wore masks. Mrs. Dunsford refused to let any of the men into the house, was eventually dragged out for her trouble. She had hidden her sons in the basement, apparently planning to smuggle them out and run away with them early the following morning. After nearly an hour of trying to force a confession from her boys, the youngest of which was only six at the time and screaming and crying ‘Mama, please help me’, someone in the crowd fired a bullet. That bullet killed Mrs. Dunsford’s next to youngest child, Walter, and the worst crime in the history of this town began._

_Five minutes later, all six of her children were dead._

_Mrs. Dunsford was dragged away to a hospital that night. She understandably seemed to lose what sanity she had left, claiming to be haunted by the spirits of her lost children, asking her why they’d let her die and why she hadn’t helped them._

_As tragic as Mrs. Dunsford’s story is, the mystery only deepens._

_One year later, Mrs. Dunsford was reported missing from the hospital. Her disappearance coincided with the discovery of the bodies of all five missing girls, in the home of a man that lived just outside of town named Herbert Shellmaker. She has not been found to this day, nearly ninety years after her sons were brutally killed in front of her. When she went missing, what little family she had left went to look for her at her old home, only to find that it was not there. The house had not been torn down, or burned down, but it was not there. There was no evidence that a house had ever been there. Every single board, window, and nail of the entire structure had vanished._

_Were it not for photos and drawings taken of the house, thanks to Mr. Dunsford’s insistence that such a picture be taken every year, the mystery of Dunsford Manor may be relegated to the status of a legend, to be forgotten over the course of history. As such, it is a mystery that continues to haunt us to this day._

“Damn.” Dean said. “No wonder she went crazy. But what’s that got to do with us?”

“Dean, this _is_ Sweet Mill. They changed the name of the town in the 1960s.” Bobby said. “The Dunsford boys are all buried in the cemetery here.”

“But why is going after Sammy?”

“I have a theory about that too.” Bobby said. “There’s been a few boys that have gone missing from this town in the last couple of years. Take a look at the ages of the ones that haven’t been found. Twenty-two, a nine-year-old, a six year old, and a sixteen year old.”

“You think she’s, what, trying to get her boys back?”

“It’s a start.”

“But that sounds a little too…organized, I guess? For a ghost, anyway.”

“Yeah, it does. So we need to get some research going. My working theory is a witch.” Bobby said.

“Man I hate witches.” Dean grumbled.

“I do too, Dean. But let’s work on finding her. There must be a reason she put Sammy in a coma like this rather than flat out killing him or taking him.”

Dean yawned. “Yeah. Let’s get going.”

“There’s no let’s to this, Dean. You stay here with your brother.”

Dean turned to Sammy, lying still and unnaturally quiet on the bed. Though his heart went out to Cara Dunsford, whatever it was she had turned into was no longer the loving woman whose world revolved around her boys. She was now something that had to be dealt with, and he intended to do just that. Dean knew that his father and Bobby would deal with Cara.

“Okay, Dad. I’ll stay with him. You just worry about finding this…”

“Dean…” John scolded lightly when he figured out what Dean was going to say.

“Witch, Dad. Witch.”

A nurse came in to check on Sam. “I don’t know how three of you got in here without me knowing, but two of you have to leave.”

“Yes, nurse. We’ll just say goodbye to my son now if that’s alright.”

“Five minutes.”

Hours after Bobby had brought the news to John and Dean about her, Cara was in the corner of the town cemetery. She was used to sleeping in the cemetery now. It had simply become a part of who she was. While she knew the rest of the world only saw mounds of dirt, she saw her children’s beds. And she didn’t know what else to do if she didn’t tuck them in at night.

The last mound of dirt on the end made her chuckle. It was unkempt, with bits of dirt flung to the side. Baby Willie had always slept with his feet poking out of his blanket, no matter what his mother’s efforts to prevent him from doing so.

“Always stubborn, huh, baby boy?”

“Mama?”

Cara turned and smiled. She knew it wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, but occasionally she saw one of her children with her. “Willie?”

“Mama? You sad?”

“Yes, baby. Mama’s sad.” Cara said. “I’m sad because I’m not with you.”

“Don’t be sad, Mama. You be with us soon.”

Cara smiled. “Yes, baby. Mama’ll be with you soon.”

“You want hugs?”

“I would love a hug from you, baby boy.” Willie embraced his mother, and Cara held him with a firmness that had kept her going for nearly two hundred years. She repeated her earlier promise. “Mama’ll be with you soon.”


End file.
